Trial by Fire
by royalstraight
Summary: The Old Republic-fic. A young Jedi, reunited with his brother and with a group of refugees in tow, has been thrown headlong into the galaxy's latest war. Now, he must survive the conflict, as well as resist the Dark side-in its many alluring forms.


We came out of hyperspace; I released the breath I had been holding. The freighter I had inherited from my father was not built for the stress I put it through. Then again, I wasn't built for the stress, either.

I wasn't long a Jedi Knight, but I was already feeling fatigued. In the course of the past few days, I had rediscovered my family, saved my brother, as well as a dozen or so refugees, and escaped the Sith Empire twice.

Lucky for us all, Tython has an open spaceport.

Unluckily, the hyper drive doesn't have enough juice to get us all the way there, which meant we were going sub light the rest of the way, which worried me; my father took care of his ship, but I wasn't sure if even the _Zephyr_ was enough of a scrapper to pull that off.

I set the autopilot on, and switched only passive systems off: no need to waste power.

Laying back in the pilot's-scratch that, "my"- chair, I turned to face my trusty droid, T3-S6; he's a relic, but he's a tough little droid.

"Dee-doo-do-ree-do," he commented.

"Well, I'm sorry," I defended myself, "but carrying a dozen refugees dissuaded me from a needless fight."

"Boo-do-doo-da-reet-doo," he queried.

"Of course there's such a thing as a 'needless' fight. And how would this freighter survive half a dozen star fighters? With all the energy on life support and all the weight, we'll be lucky to not hit anything at the spaceport."

"Boo-reet-too-do-doo," was his suggestion.

"I can't do that with the Force; and I can't mind trick all the pilots. Keep in mind; I have to fly the ship, too."

"Doo-do-da-reet-dee-do," was the even more useless explanation.

I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger: I was exhausted enough without explaining myself to my droid. "You can't. Last I checked you don't have thumbs; you don't even have hands!"

He paused, and chirped, "Ree-do-dee-do-too!"

"Under what circumstance did it occur to you that I could get your memory core into a protocol droid? Besides, protocol droids can't do anything."

"Tree-doo-do-dee," Teethree sighed.

"Yes, you can. You just can't fly the ship."

Teethree sighed, and resigned from the cockpit.

A thought occurred to me, and I called to him, "I'm not putting you in an assassin droid, either!"

I listened intently, and, sure enough, I heard an electronic shriek; T4 had a habit of finding loop holes, which actually came in handy when he was hacking.

Smirking, I flicked on the PA (a personal touch of my father's) and, cordially as I could, announced, "Alright, ladies and refugees, this is your Captain speaking: we're inbound to Tython, and we should arrive in their morning. I recommend you take this time to get everything together. Remember, share drinks, not blasters, and feel free to move about the ship."

Stretching, I brought myself up to my full height, about two meters, and ran a hand through my hair. I preferred to keep it short, but it had grown substantially, as personal grooming had become something of a low priority of mine lately.

I palmed the door open (I liked the cockpit private), and it hissed open…halfway. I gave it a kick, and sent it on its way.

"You really shouldn't do that", an unfamiliar, although not unpleasant voice, reprimanded.

I strained against the instinct to whip out my light saber, and was rewarded greatly; looking up, I saw one of the refugees I had saved. It was a little awkward, as I had to make a conscious effort to not stare at her: total hotties tend to hold my attention tightly.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't appreciate my anti-door sentiments," I instinctively replied. I mentally kicked myself: sarcasm was the standard language in the Coruscant slums, where most of my training took place, but I did not want to make a fool of myself.

This is probably why I was surprised when she smirked.

"You're very curious, Jedi."

"How so?" I asked, leaning against the bulkhead and crossing my arms.

"Well, you kicked a door."

"And…"I replied innocently, "lot's of people kick doors. I hear they punch things, too."

"'Lot's of people' can't move things with their mind."

Admittedly, I was in a corner after that one.

"There's also the issue of how you fought those Sith troopers back on Dantooine."

I gave her my personal Yeah-And-What's-Wrong-With-That look.

She drew her eyes over me, and rested on a point just below my belt.

I followed her gaze to my…lightsaber.

I looked back at her, and noticed that she was closer; much closer.

"Do you even know how to use that thing?"

"Do I need to answer that question?" Anger is not the Jedi way, but I cannot stand someone understating me. Besides, most of my actions lately hadn't been…wholly Jedi-like.

She squinted at me, and I felt the Force ripple around her. She drew a blaster, and fired what was meant to be a gut shot. The bolt was blue, which meant it was only meant to stun me, but I knew it was a test.

I dropped; keeping my feet planted and my back straight, allowing my knees to collapse; my proximity to the bolt as it passed by my face filled my nostrils with the scent of ozone.

I kicked the barrel of the blaster, launching it straight at the ceiling, off of which it bounced, and landed neatly in my hand as I brought myself back up seamlessly. My feet still hadn't moved.

She looked, to say the least, surprised.

"You could have just used the lightsaber," she suggested.

I flipped the pistol around, and handed it to her butt-first, with a quiet, "You could have done without shooting at me."

She accepted her weapon, and the ensuing silence was incredibly awkward.

I decided to valiantly besiege this condition with a cheery suggestion of "Maybe we should get some food."

I slid past her, but I could sense that she was still watching me. Ignoring her seemed that best idea: I still had to make sure everything on the ship was still running smoothly.

The main living area was loud, crowded, and, had I breathed through my nose, probably smelly: at least two large families were onboard, and though they had only brought the necessities, they did need a lot.

I started to work my through the cramped space, but a small mass collided with my leg. Investigating this disturbance, I found a little girl being chased around me by a slightly larger boy.

I knelt down between them. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"Rachey," the little girl pleaded to my assailant, "he's chasing me." I was surprised by the pet name.

"'Rachey?'" I inquired with an upraised eyebrow.

A flash of embarrassment crossed her face, but she caught it quickly.

She tried to avert any other catastrophe. "Hey our Jedi friend-"

"Jake," I interjected.

"-doesn't want to be bothered with your little fight," she barreled through me.

"No, it's alright," I placated, "Maybe I can help."

The little girl faced me. "Mister Jedi, my brother's chasing me."

"Because she lost my vibroblade back home!" the boy interrupted.

"And it's so important that you would chase your sister?"

"All the other kids thought I was cool when I got it."

I drew my lightsaber, but left it off. I tossed it to the boy. "Know what that is?" I asked him.

He nodded.

I brought my head down to his. "Do you think I'm cool?"

He nodded. "You have a lightsaber; and the Force."

"Do you know what the Sith are?"

"Yes. They're not cool."

"Really? But they have lightsabers and the Force too."

"But they're mean. They hurt people."

"So I'm not cool because I can do this," I replied as I lifted him a few inches off the deck, "I'm cool because I don't?"

He nodded with a glint of fear in his eyes.

"Remember," I explained, "it's not what's in here that matters," as I gestured to my lightsaber, "but in here." I put a finger on his chest over his heart, and he nodded eagerly.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

"I'm Cal. That's Sisi and that's Rachel." He leaned in close and whispered, very loudly, "Rachel likes you."

I looked back at Rachel, who had turned so red that she resembled a Kel Dor, and smirked. I turned back to Cal, and whispered just as loudly, "I know. Have you ever seen a T3 droid?"

He shook his head.

"Want to?"

Nod.

"Take Sisi and go find mine. Tell him I said you can bother him."

Cal went to his little sister, grabbed her hand, and disappeared into the crowd that was much thicker than any Dynamic-class was meant to handle.

I brought myself back up, and turned to face Rachel.

"I'm impressed," she conceded, "even for a Jedi."

"What can I say?" I feigned modesty.

"Ow!" I did not feign how much it hurt when she punched me in the arm.

A little while later, we sat in the cargo hold, enjoying some privacy, when a dark cloud choked out her laughter.

"What?" I asked, sliding closer to her.

"My brother still has your lightsaber. I'm sorry about him."

"It's alright. At least you know him."

Her face continued to darken, and I put an arm around her. "Hey, lighten up. I knew he had my saber this whole time."

She looked at me quizzically. "Why didn't you get it from him?"

Our faces were mere inches apart.

"I didn't care."

Our faces ceased to be inches apart.

Man, the dark side is so appealing, sometimes.


End file.
